


Got Me

by HogwartsToAlexandria



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Scheming, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/pseuds/HogwartsToAlexandria
Summary: Princeton Plainsboro hosts a Christmas party every year. The same people attend, the same donors are wooed, the same doctors end up drunk and singing songs them and their moms would rather they didn't know. The same routine settles in House's household too — the two men in his life think they are being sneaky and clever and don't mention it when he's around.
Relationships: Robert Chase/Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Holly Poly 2020





	Got Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Curtashiism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curtashiism/gifts).



Princeton Plainsboro hosts a Christmas party every year. The same people attend, the same donors are wooed, the same doctors end up drunk and singing songs them and their moms would rather they didn't know. The same routine settles in House's household too — the two men in his life think they are being sneaky and clever and don't mention it when he's around. But House knows it's all they actually talk about the moment he walks out of the room.

Chase gets that blank face he makes whenever he tries to hide something — anything really, from the fact that he did, in fact, buy the silly animal cookies for himself, to the fact that he's been flirting with Cameron again. Neither House nor Wilson actually care about either, but it's way too much fun to let him believe they do. He blushes too, if you stare him down long enough. If House was any different than he is, more into romance shit and stuff, he would call that face he does pretty cute, but he's not. And he's pretty sure everyone around him is grateful he isn't. 

Wilson? Wilson has always been terrible at poker faces, terrible at lying, unless he puts in the time and it's something both he and House know has no bearing on anything personal. 

Christmas does have a bearing on a lot of personal stuff. 

Not because Jimmy thinks Jesus was born and the world went running round. Guy's jewish, of course he doesn't. But he is also _sentimental_. 

"You're staring at me again, House." Wilson observes, his forkful of fries stopped halfway to his mouth. 

House feigns surprise, laughs when it gets Wilson frowning, and steals another fry before he responds, "Just picturing you naked again. Nothing serious." 

"Are you naked too?" Is Wilson's only answer, and House can only grin. And eat more fries. 

"Who's naked?" Chase slides into their cafeteria booth, his tray full of even more delicious food House won't have to pay for. 

"Foreman, and Cameron," House quips. 

Chase's resulting frown is at least as funny as Wilson's had been. 

"Ha ha." 

"You gonna eat that? No? Great." House takes Chase's muffin from his tray and starts peeling off the paper. 

"I was, actually—" 

"So when are you too going to stop scheming about Cuddy's Christmas party?" 

Comical. That's the best way to describe the faces both House's boyfriends make in that moment — also comical is the fact that he gets to call these two his boyfriends but he's working on getting used to that, working on not being terrified of it. Wilson stutters and Chase avoids his gaze and they try to come up with words but House doesn't let them. 

"When you two idiots figure out your cover excuse, let me know. I have a patient." He says, getting up as gracefully as he can, balling up the muffin wrapper and dropping it on the table for punctuation. Then he leaves and smiles to himself when he hears them start to whisper the moment he's supposedly out of earshot. Idiots. 

* * *

The case is boring, at best, dreadfully sad in its predictability — if House chose to be dramatic about it. Which he doesn't. Because Foreman and Thirteen are too busy making moon eyes at each other, Taub left as soon as they figured it out, and neither Wilson nor Chase are around to be annoyed about it. 

"You can leave. Be merry, do Christmas crap, seize the day. Whatever." He tells the happy couple, and leaves himself. 

He doesn't go far, just down the hall. He barges into Wilson's office—

"So, you ready to spit it—"

Wilson's not in his office. 

House sighs. His leg is killing him, the weather is properly december-y, and the two men who can relatively make him forget about it are making themselves scarce instead of being right here, where he needs them to take his mind off the pain. He sits on Wilson's couch, and then lies down completely. He doesn't have his ball here, but it's still better than having to walk all the way back to his office. 

If only Cuddy could find him cases worth something. 

House closes his eyes, and before he knows it, falls asleep. It'll be time to think about his escape plan out of here when he wakes up. 

* * *

"Do you have everything?" Wilson asks again. Can't help it. Even if he can see the tightness of Robert's shoulders for the annoyance it betrays until the man releases them and laughs, turning around to playfully glare at him—

"I do. We've been planning long enough James, and the fool doesn't even suspect anything." 

Wilson laughs at that, too. It's true, how they ever managed it is a wonder and they'll have to come up with another plan next year but for now, he's almost giddy that they made it to Christmas Eve and House still thinks he figured them out. 

"Pass me the bath bomb?" 

* * *

When House wakes up, feeling just as grumpy — Chase does like to call him an old grump — as he did before he dozed off, he's still alone. Which is odd. But fine. 

He looks around as he sits up, tries to blink away the remnants of sleep and locate his cane. It's set against Wilson's chair, which means he has to get up and trudge a few steps. The pain isn't gone, but he's still in a better mood. He can attempt an escape now. 

The hallway is clear. The elevator down the South wing is clear too. House walks on past dozens of rooms and offices and wishes he could go faster but the adrenaline is kind of fun. When he gets too close to the E.R., he waits for a bit, leaning behind an open door. All he can see are patients and nurses, no Cameron or Chase or even Cuddy. He makes a go for it—

He truly expects to be stopped, his name shouted across the corridor, Wilson's hand closing over his own as he tries to get the parking-lot door to open. 

None of it happens. He's free, getting onto his bike in no time, and getting out of there in even less. 

Free. And alone, coincidentally. 

He's an ass, and a moron often, and Wilson tells him enough, and Chase glares at him for all he's worth a lot but as proud as he is that he managed to escape the hellish Christmas splurge, House's smile fades as he rides his bike home. Not enough that he'd consider turning back, but it still does. 

Contradictions. He's full of them, maybe full of shit too. Which is why, when he parks the bike by his building and makes it home, when he opens the door and expects an empty apartment and a night at the piano, House startles—

"What the—" 

"Surprise, asshole!" Chase laughs, at him or because he's proud of their little stunt remains to be determined but the felt antlers wedged in his hair and the red nose Wilson is wearing next to him definitely mitigate the sting. 

House smiles, begrudgingly, sure, but he smiles. He closes the door and leans on it, trying to take in how well these two played him, and letting them have their fun too. 

"Got me." He says eventually, and it's enough of a defeat statement that Wilson walks to him. 

"Got you." He repeats, and instead of gloating like House would have done in his shoes, the tone of his voice is breathier, and sultrier than it has any right to. 

House lets Wilson kiss him, and reciprocates when a hand at his neck has shivers running through him. 

"Leg?" Chase asks, still standing by the piano. 

"Killing me." House answers truthfully. 

"Bathtub is filled, hot, and full of bubbles." Wilson tells him. "Come on." 

Again, House lets himself be pulled by the hand, casting a look behind him for Chase, and forward again when the man is right behind, following them to the bathroom. 

"Merry Christmas. Idiot." 


End file.
